Divine Intervention
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: It's a dark and stormy night. Valentine's Day, in fact. And a few insistent people at Seventh Heaven are not about to let Vincent go one more minute without addressing his attitude towards a certain vivacious ninja. Takes place a year after Dirge of Cerberus, give or take a few months. T for suggestive themes and language. I do not own Final Fantasy or the cover art!


In hindsight, Vincent probably should have known something was afoot even before he walked into Seventh Heaven.

It was a _dismal_ evening—not because of the rain pouring down from the starless sky, but because it was the overhyped night of his least favorite holiday, the one that shared its title with his surname. But Vincent definitely should have suspected that things could always be worse. In his case, he ought to have been used to that.

First of all, Cid sat at the bar, which would have been an entirely ordinary sight as of a couple years ago—but he had a wife, now, and he ought to be spending some quality time with her instead of sitting at Tifa's bar. And, come to think of it, Tifa herself was getting serious with Cloud; why had she invited anyone over in the first place, now that she had taken on the obligations of a girlfriend? It _was_ a special occasion, after all, no matter how much Vincent detested the day.

Trying to figure out her mysterious ulterior motive, Vincent fingered his gun automatically in its holster; though he had removed his clawed gauntlet and the spikes on his shoes, to leave Cerberus behind would be unthinkable even among friends.

"Hey, Vincent," greeted Tifa, straightening up from behind the bar, and Vincent only narrowed his eyes. "Long time no see." It had only been since Cloud's twenty-fifth birthday party, not more than a month or so ago—certainly not long enough to warrant inviting him over again so soon. Where his friends were concerned, a little went a long way. (Of course, that was truer for Yuffie than anyone else, but that wasn't to say he didn't enjoy her company a little more than the others in recompense.)

As though the thought of her name summoned her, Yuffie suddenly burst through the door, and Vincent whirled around. "Sorry I'm late," she called, disentangling herself from an enormous raincoat and—after throwing it haphazardly onto a coatrack—stumbling forward with all the limited dignity she could salvage: Vincent caught himself smiling a little, but sobered as soon as she glanced over in his direction: they locked eyes.

"Go time!" exclaimed Barret, distracting them both. Suddenly, Vincent found himself steered by three sets of hands towards the counter. Tifa, meanwhile, sprang forward and dragged a protesting Yuffie upstairs. Vincent went quietly simply because shooting them all before he even heard what they had to say… well, that might be taken amiss.

They pushed him roughly into a seat at the bar, and he winced as his ribs crashed into the counter. "Vincent, this is an intervention," announced Cloud, sitting next to him, and his mako-blue eyes twinkled a little with unusual amusement as Vincent groaned. This couldn't be about _last time_, right? (That was a long story which he never wanted to retell—starting with a certain ninja dressing too lightly for the weather and demanding he lend her his cloak.)

Cid, meanwhile, got right to the point—and unfortunately, that point harmonized perfectly with Vincent's memories. Specifically, the recollection in which Yuffie was too drunk to throw a punch at his shoulder, lost her balance, and Vincent had to catch her and haul her to her feet. "So," growled Cid, chewing on a toothpick and looking him dead in the eye. "Why don't you two just fuck already?"

Vincent blinked, taken aback, and his mind went momentarily blank; he felt, to his annoyance, the heat rushing to his cheeks. It had been a long time since he's heard that word used in that way, and even longer since it was used in conjunction with his own actions. _What?_

"Everyone's been thinkin' it, I'm just finally sayin' it," added Cid nonchalantly, leaning against the bar, and Vincent was alarmed to notice two more nodding heads (though Cloud looked a little more apprehensive than Barret). "_Especially_ since last time. Anyone can see she's crazy about you, Vince."

"She tried to punch me," countered Vincent, resolved to steer this conversation as far away from Cid's suggestion as possible. It had only been thanks to her drunkenness that she missed, and of course the job fell to _him_ to steady her—provided that by 'steady' you mean 'catch her by both wrists and haul her to her feet before she could seriously damage herself, and catch hell for it from the others when she accidentally ends up standing between his legs'.

Not that he particularly minded, but it certainly didn't mean anything. It didn't matter whether his heart beat just a little bit faster when Yuffie was around; that probably had more to do with worrying about her safety, since she was such a danger to herself. Definitely.

Cid snorted, but it was Cloud who replied. "You said she should borrow some clothes from _Marlene_!" he said, eyes wide, and it was clearly difficult for him to keep a straight face: Barret chuckled in the background, and Vincent shot him an exasperated look out the corner of his eye. "Do you expect someone like Yuffie to take an insult like that?"

Vincent let out a long, drawn-out sigh, unwilling to even attempt an answer; they would just contradict him anyway. In his defense, he'd had a couple glasses of wine himself: it seemed like as good an option as any at the time, given that Tifa's clothes would hardly fit on a figure like Yuffie's—no matter how much the latter wanted everyone to believe otherwise.

It was unfortunate, he noted, scanning the floor, that Nanaki was absent. Vincent was sure that he, at least, would have supported him in this endeavor. He took little interest in human affairs, after all, and was all for the freedom of choice. Perhaps, he realized, Tifa had specifically _not_ invited him because she had wanted to keep Vincent outnumbered.

"Seriously, all your flirtation is gettin' hard to watch," asserted Cid, tapping his fingers on the table and throwing back a sip of whatever golden-brown liquid Tifa had given him. "You can't keep your hands to yourselves, and I even caught you blushin' like a schoolgirl last time. A little like you are now," he noted, gesturing with his glass in his hand, and Vincent grit his teeth.

"You could cut the tension with a knife," agreed Cloud, pouring a glass of wine for Vincent, but he didn't touch it.

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?" he asked irritably, trying hard not to snap. Maintaining his traditional coolness around these idiots, especially when they were hell-bent on bringing up sensitive subjects—well, that was easier said than done. As he stood up, Barret rested a hand on the back of his neck and shoved him back into his seat: Vincent grimaced, though he knew that push had been positively _gentle_ for someone as muscular as he.

"An intervention," added Cloud, leaning forward conspiratorially, "isn't really supposed to just be us talking at you. Why don't you defend yourself?" he suggested, earning nods from his comrades. Vincent, glaring, had his doubts; they clearly meant to take over his role as marksman and shoot down all his halfhearted protests.

"I will _personally_ bring the ninja back downstairs and we can all have this conversation with her in the room with us," threatened Cid after a long silence, and Vincent automatically shook his head: he cursed himself as Cloud and the others smirked infuriatingly.

"What do you _want_ from me?" he finally asked. Simply saying that they should… _ahem_—well, that wouldn't do anything. Vincent was not going to make the first move in that direction, especially as for years he had avoided even thinking of it. It would only act as a distraction, after all.

Cid shrugged. "I want you to recognize that it's possible to be happy," he responded. "That's all." Vincent stared at him; did he consider it his duty, now that he was married, to try and induce everyone else to find the same sort of romantic bliss? He knew exactly how well it had worked out with Lucrecia all those years ago; no one had any right to expect that this relationship would go well, either.

"I _am _happy," shot back Vincent unconvincingly, well aware he had never looked less so—glowering, arms crossed, posture rigid, sitting in a bar stool with an untouched glass of red wine gleaming before him.

"I beg to differ," said Cloud coolly, raising his eyebrows. "I think we all saw that little smile when Yuffie came in," he added, glancing around for support, which was unfortunately granted: Vincent felt his color turn another couple shades closer to his cape. "You're happy when she's around, in a way you're _not_ when you're around the rest of us."

He had a point, but Vincent wasn't about to admit it. It may have been true that what he felt for Yuffie was decidedly different from that which he felt for his other allies—an odd mixture of exasperation and, yes, affection. But what never failed to confuse him, whenever he analyzed and re-analyzed his thoughts and feelings, was that this was most definitely _not_ the same feeling as what he'd once felt for…

"Lucrecia," sighed Vincent suddenly, quietly. Yuffie was about as far from her as you could get, after all, which was yet another reason why this situation made no sense. She was not particularly graceful, nor especially beautiful—or at least, certainly not in the same dignified way as Lucrecia.

Cloud and Barret exchanged a frustrated glance, and the latter shrugged helplessly, but Cid only chuckled. "Pop quiz," he announced, taking another swig. "Which, of Lucrecia and Yuffie, is currently alive? You know, _not_ encased in crystal?"

"That was insensitive," muttered Cloud under his breath, staring into his glass, but Vincent only raised his eyes to Cid's in something of a challenge. Did he really think he needed to be reminded of Lucrecia's inevitable inaccessibility? Part of her allure was in the fact that he could not have her, after all.

"Vince can take it," said Cid, not taking his eyes off Vincent's. "Go on, answer. One name. No stalling."

"Yuffie," growled Vincent, through grit teeth. "But—"

"Exactly," interrupted Cid, raising his voice over Vincent's. "And unless you _like_ that sorta thing," he continued, and Barret visibly shuddered in his peripheral vision, "Yuffie is probably the better option for you, of the two."

"I don't _need _her," protested Vincent, more and more frustrated. For him to give in now would make it seem like he was only agreeing for selfish and physical reasons. Had they framed their stupid little 'intervention' any other way, perhaps he would have caved by now, but—were _all_ his fellow males so shallow?

Barret smiled. "It ain't about whatcha need. It's about whatcha _want_."

"I'm gonna be blunt, Vince," sighed Cid, sitting down in the bar stool next to him and looking him in the eye. He'd learned to hate it when he did that, especially when preceded by a statement like _that_; it was almost immediately followed by some ground-shaking revelation or uncomfortably personal question. As it turned out, this was no exception.

"You a virgin?"

Vincent was too shocked even to look away from those deadpan blue eyes, which was probably his fatal mistake. His thoughts always showed in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide them, and no matter how much he hated any given question, his mind always thought of the answer.

There was that one time… not with Lucrecia, damn it; it had been before he'd met her… but he didn't even remember her name. It was not an experience on which he reflected with pride, but it was done nonetheless.

Cid laughed, startling him out of his unwilling reminiscences, and Vincent knew his answer showed. "Will wonders never cease!" he chortled, taking another sip. "Vincent Valentine once touched a woman!"

"Stop it," responded Vincent through grit teeth. The last thing he needed was word of this getting out; he had always heard that it was embarrassing to be known as a virgin. In his case, the opposite was true, perhaps because the alternative was detrimental to his carefully maintained image as a cold-hearted killer.

"At least, I'm _assuming_ it was a woman," added Cid wryly, and after a very short pause, Vincent—his limited patience at an end—leapt to his feet and punched him in the face before he himself even fully realized what was happening. He blinked, staring at his fist: that felt… really good, actually. Much better than shooting people. (No wonder Tifa had adopted it as her fighting style.)

Cid reeled back, but Barret caught him, looking Vincent up and down—half-impressed, half-reprimanding, but anything but angry. Cloud's mouth had dropped open, and his somewhat childish expression was one of pure awe.

"Well, that told me all I need to know," muttered Cid, feeling his cheek. "Barret, _you_ ask the next question," he added. "I dunno if I can take his answer."

Barret cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly; Vincent raised an eyebrow briefly, daring him to continue. "And this was… before ya went to sleep?" he asked eventually.

"…Yes," growled Vincent, crossing his arms and wishing he'd ignored Tifa's gentle urging not to bring any weapons. Fighting his way out of this situation would be, quite literally, easier done than said.

"And we woke you up how many years ago?" asked Cloud, smiling faintly.

Vincent sighed heavily, knowing exactly where this was going… but _not _answering would undoubtedly bring more problems than an honest response. (Cloud had run into a similar issue when Tifa accidentally brought up their adventures in Wall Market, and the speculation had been so outrageous that he'd had to tell the whole story just to shut them up.) "Four."

"Gaia—how can you _go _that long?" asked Cid, pounding his fist on the table—fiery as ever, with apparently no regard for the newest bruise on his face. "This is more serious than I thought," he added, half to himself, and Vincent rolled his eyes as Cloud and Barret nodded.

He was about to open his mouth and explain that it was easy if they avoided unnecessary distractions when Cid smiled and said, "You're not a monster anymore, Vince, you're a man—so _act like one_."

"By taking advantage of Yuffie?" asked Vincent shortly, crossing his arms, and Cloud got to his feet warily (ostensibly to restrain him, in case he acted on the overwhelming impulse to shoot Cid's legs out).

"_Take advantage of_?" chortled Cid, spreading his arms along the counter as he leaned back. "She's beggin' for it." Vincent blinked, grudgingly recognizing the truth in Cid's words as more and more memories poured in: the one that stood out most was when she had gone looking for him, found him on a mountaintop, and been too tired to make the return trip, so had insisted he carry her back.

"Shit, Vincent, ain'tcha got eyes?" supplied Barret, crossing his arms in a fashion Vincent supposed intimidated most others, and Cloud laughed as Vincent gave them all a dirty look. Of course he had eyes; he was far more sharp-eyed than most, really.

(He noticed Yuffie and her petite proportions, for example, in precise detail each time she crossed his field of vision—but they were pushing him farther and farther away from ever admitting it.)

"Think," added Cid, grinning, and Vincent unfortunately ignored the instinct to plug his ears. "If you opened your door and Yuffie was lyin' on your bed with a sparkle in her eyes and not a scrap of clothing on her little body—would you send her away?"

Vincent's eyes widened. He'd thought the question about his virginity was forward, but _this_? But he had no choice, as usual, save to instinctively answer the question in his mind.

His immediate response was no; _he _would leave, as would be the gentlemanly thing to do—but he did acknowledge reluctantly that the image would stay in his head for a very long time, and that he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye for quite a while. He congratulated himself on his restraint; had she done so with anyone else, he had no doubt they would pounce on the opportunity.

But _had _she done so with anyone else? The thought annoyed him in a way he hadn't been vexed since he caught Hojo and Lucrecia kissing, so he resolved to think of it no more. Exploring a similar train of thought, he caught himself wondering for the first time whether or not his willpower would truly hold up against Yuffie's insistence if she were to be so direct about such desires.

Vincent _was_ only human, at least now that Chaos had returned to the Planet. Now that he had been forced to think about it again—well, four years' abstinence seemed unthinkable. He cursed his mind for turning against him so quickly, letting down its allegedly impenetrable barriers, at such a simple question.

"Anyway," interjected Barret, exchanging a simultaneously amused and annoyed glance with Cid (as Vincent realized abruptly that he had _not _chosen the best of times to zone out, given the context), "it ain't right to let her go on thinkin' she has a chance if ya ain't gonna give her one."

Cloud nodded, plainly trying not to smile. "So, whether or not you actually go _that_ far is up to you—but you have to at least take her out on a date tonight. Just to see if you like it."

"Not interested," said Vincent pointedly, and Cloud chuckled.

"Yeah, you are," laughed Cid, and Vincent sighed resignedly, knowing he had no say in the matter—but really, they'd done him a favor, if only by setting up a situation in which he could blame his awkwardness on being forced into the scenario.

"Tifa!" bellowed Barret, apparently taking that as his cue, and Vincent winced as his voice exploded in his right ear.

"Just a sec!" called Tifa frustratedly after a pause, shouting over what seemed to be high-pitched, indistinct protests; a door shut abruptly, cutting off the noise.

"Why aren't you with Shera?" asked Vincent of Cid, disinterestedly, and finally took a sip of his wine. (Good, as usual.)

Cid sighed, but there was a smile on his face. "I promised to make it up to her tomorrow, but you guys probably don't wanna know the details." Cloud shook his head fervently as his grin widened. "Anyway, my duty as a married man is to stick my nose in other people's love lives, and since yours is 'specially lacking—"

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a door opening, followed immediately by the sound of two girls yelling at the tops of their lungs.

"They're just high heels, Yuffie!"

"They look like something you bought in _Wall Market_!"

"Thank Gaia the kids are at Elmyra's," muttered Cloud, draining his glass, and Barret nodded agreement. Vincent smiled faintly; he would have wanted to see what Shelke, Denzel, and Marlene thought of this shouting match—and then he remembered his involvement, and found himself incredibly relieved they weren't here.

"You don't even know if he has the same taste!"

"No straight man can resist a pair of good stilettos!"

Vincent shot a glance out the corner of his eye to find Cloud staring at the wall, but the tip of his visible ear was pink; Cid and Barret both grinned, and Vincent simply sighed heavily. He could not for the life of him imagine Yuffie in heels, much less that particular kind.

Their voices moved ominously closer at a fast pace.

"Come _back_ here!" insisted Tifa. "You're not dressed!" Vincent froze; was she seriously coming downstairs without wearing anything?!

"What's wrong with what I wore here?" scoffed Yuffie, laughing, and he heaved a sigh of relief (with a peculiarly disappointed tinge). "Vince isn't gonna dress up, either!"

"But your makeup doesn't even go with that outfit!"

Yuffie made the sound that usually accompanied sticking one's tongue out. It wasn't a difficult thing to imagine, and the corner of Vincent's mouth tugged up just at the mental image.

"I'm just trying to help—!" said Tifa desperately, but Yuffie had already crossed the threshold into the room, breathing hard and positively glowing with glee at having outrun Tifa. Sure enough, she wore her ordinary clothes, albeit without any shoes, and with some perfectly applied but certainly uncharacteristic light makeup.

"Ta-da!" she announced, grinning, but the smile dropped off her face and shattered on the floor as she took in everyone's helplessly amused expressions. "You… heard all that, didn't you?" she asked, touching her fingers together awkwardly as she ducked her head like a child being scolded. "Sorry, Tifa…"

Tifa sighed. "It's okay." She gave Vincent a wry smile. "Good luck with her," she said, pushing her gently forward. "Drinks are on the house, by the way," she added. "But you'll have to serve yourselves."

Cloud got to his feet, looking immensely relieved, as Tifa beckoned him forward, and tucked an arm around her waist as they retrieved an umbrella (Cloud sheathed it on his back, like a sword) and stepped out the door—but not before he tossed a wink back at Vincent.

"Ah, young love," said Cid sardonically, pouring himself another drink, and Vincent and Yuffie exchanged a stony glance. Weren't they going to leave them to their mandatory date? To chaperone it would make them even more uncomfortable, and Vincent hadn't thought that was a possibility.

"For bein' a married man, ya sure are cynical," retorted Barret, cuffing Cid 'lightly' on the shoulder before glancing over at Vincent and Yuffie. "Now, let's get outta here and leave these two to their date. A watched pot never boils," he added sagely, looking proud of himself at his correctly used analogy.

Cid rolled his eyes, pushing himself away from the counter. "If you say so," he yawned, stretching before sauntering upstairs (refilled glass in hand), followed closely by Barret, who gave the pair what was supposed to be an encouraging grin. The stairs creaked dangerously as he ascended, and then there was silence but for the rain still pouring down.

Vincent had never felt so much pressure as Yuffie slid onto the barstool next to him, and he just knew it showed on his face. "Come on, spill it," she said eventually, eyeing his undoubtedly grim expression. "I never got a chance to hear you guys the way you heard us. What were _you_ talking about?"

"Ah," said Vincent, brought up short, and suddenly found it very difficult to look at her. How could he tell her that Cid had told him they should, well—that he had finally been made to confront everything he was missing?

"Guy stuff?" prompted Yuffie tentatively, and Vincent nodded, still unable to meet her curious eyes. Alone with her, he found her presence even more distracting than usual, his senses sharpening automatically to take her in—_all _of her.

Her charmingly small chest rose and fell quickly, her breaths barely audible over the pounding precipitation. A light, spicy scent enticed him closer; he moistened his lips, wondering against his will how soft her skin was, but suddenly reality crashed back down upon him and Vincent took a deep and inadequate breath.

"They think you like me," he began, and alarm flashed in her dark eyes: she opened her mouth as though to contradict him, but evidently decided against it and merely bowed her head.

"I guess it's pretty obvious, huh," she said eventually, looking up in desperate helplessness, and of all the conflicting emotions he felt at her words, not one of them was surprise. No; Yuffie may have been good at clearing her expression temporarily—but in the long run, she was anything but subtle.

Vincent only nodded, not wishing to hurt her feelings through clumsy speech; Yuffie, seemingly at a loss for what else to do with herself, took a sip of Vincent's wine and made a face.

"How do you _drink_ this stuff?" she muttered, reaching behind the bar and pouring herself a glass of some absurdly sweet liqueur or other. There was another almost unbearably long pause as Yuffie sipped at her own drink, staring at the wall and listening to the rain.

"You don't have to love me," she said suddenly, after what might have been several minutes of pensive silence, and she could not meet Vincent's eyes, and he regarded her with some surprise. "I'll be okay. Just, be careful how you say it," she added imploringly, eyes wide and serious. "I'm a lot more fragile than I look."

Vincent's mouth twitched into a smile, and he chuckled despite himself. He couldn't articulate even to himself why he had found cause to laugh—probably just the thought of Yuffie, in all her purported toughness, admitting any kind of weakness.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, sounding a little hurt.

"Sorry," apologized Vincent, taking another insufficiently deep breath, and their eyes lock for the second time that night. "You're just… Yuffie," he finished lamely, trying to find the right word as he tore his gaze towards the wall. 'Cute' was very close, but he knew she'd kill him if he told her so…

"Wait, you're _blushing_?" she asked faintly, sounding almost awestruck, and her hand brushed his face: he jumped, but by no means was it an unpleasant sensation. "Oh my gosh, you're actually human after all!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands, and he tugged uncomfortably at various parts of his cloak, at a loss for what to do with himself.

"But—does that mean—" she continued, stopping short and eyeing him with wary hope. That did nothing whatsoever to lessen the already barely-bearable weight resting on his shoulders as he remembered his past failures. He _liked_ her, certainly, but did he love her? Would he be good for her, or would he hold her back? She was so fiercely independent, nothing like Lucrecia…

"I don't know," sighed Vincent eventually, deciding on the truth, and glanced at her out the corner of his eye. "It's not the same as last time," he added uncertainly, by way of attempting to explain and defend his inexperience. Last time, when everything was simple and conventional, if tragic—last time, when the universe's 'intervention' was not in his favor.

"Oh," said Yuffie, biting her lip worriedly, and her concern immediately became annoyance as she swiped a finger across her glossy lips and examined it disgustedly. Vincent only raised his eyebrow and took another, longer sip of wine.

"Goddamn makeup," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she stood up. "I don't know how Tifa does it. I'll be back," promised Yuffie, charging towards the stairs, stumbling only once on her way up (if the thump followed by a muffled yelp was anything to go by).

Vincent, meanwhile, swallowed another mouthful of wine and reflected on the past. Cid had a point about the crystal, much as he hated to admit it, and he touched his cheek absentmindedly, remembering the way Yuffie had brushed it. She was a living, breathing woman, soft and warm and willing, and it was selfish of him to ignore her in favor of chasing after the frozen beauty of Lucrecia Crescent.

But damn it, he couldn't help it. She was an ideal, something he had pursued in the back of his mind for years, something he had dreamed of throughout all the decades of his sleep, and however foolish it might be—there would always be a part of him that just couldn't let go.

"I'm back!" announced Yuffie with a considerable amount of bravado, stretching as she walked through the door, face makeup-free and positively glowing with her usual childish exuberance. "Did you miss me?" she added, swaggering up to the counter and leaning against it—oddly, more confident than she had been before. How much of it was false, Vincent couldn't say.

Rather than respond, he simply regarded her with as close to a smiling expression as ever he wore, and she seemed satisfied as she sat down, her eyes fixed on his face. He didn't think she'd ever been this quiet for this long before; he gazed up at the roof, focusing on the dark wood in the dim light, and with her presence and the sound of the rain, everything seemed… right.

He was distracted from this wordless perfection, however, as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"What are you…" began Vincent uncertainly. He'd loved Lucrecia, to be sure, and he'd gone much farther with the nameless girl before her, but he had never done _this_ kind of thing. The simplicity of romance evaded him—the little, uncomplicated gestures—and that was the equally simple truth.

"Shhhh," whispered Yuffie, closing her eyes and frowning a little as though concentrating hard, and Vincent sighed heavily, if only to take his mind off his fluttering heart and whirling thoughts. The more he tried not to think about everything Cid had told him, the more he thought about it. If he didn't find a way to break the cycle soon, he was going to snap.

Yuffie lifted her head, sliding her hand up to his chest, where his heart skipped at _least_ one beat. He froze, turning towards her abruptly to find their faces only a couple inches apart: they each jerked back, and her hand hovered uncertainly over his heart before she withdrew it altogether.

"Sorry," she giggled nervously, cowering in her stool as he rose.

"What were you—?" Vincent started asking, staring at her.

"Trying to feel your heartbeat," explained Yuffie, hanging her head. "So I don't have to wait for you to make up your mind." Vincent gazed down at her a moment longer before finally smiling, and when she didn't look at him to see it, tilted her chin up with a couple fingers: she flinched, but the relief on her face as she looked up was absolute. And, frankly, adorable.

Vincent sighed, settling back down and taking another sip of wine; another, slightly more comfortable silence expanded between them. The rain seemed to have lessened, much to his dismay; it was now _far_ too quiet for a room containing Yuffie. She was plainly too anxious to speak, and he didn't blame her. So was he.

"What did my heart say?" asked Vincent eventually, glancing at her briefly out the corner of her eye; she jumped, but smiled hesitantly at the question.

"I didn't get a really close listen," said Yuffie, swinging her legs, "but it sounded like—well, it _seemed_ happy." Yuffie smiled at him somewhat shyly, and he found himself oddly relaxed at her uncharacteristically uncertain translation.

How strange that his body should tell his mind what to think. "I think you and my heart have me outnumbered," said Vincent eventually, carefully. She might positively explode with excitement if he were to say anything remotely close to what she clearly wants to hear.

"Vince?" prompted Yuffie, wide-eyed.

He sighed heavily, trying to find the right words. "I loved Lucrecia," he said simply, and her face fell slightly; he scrambled to undo her obvious disappointment while still admitting the truth. "Part of me still loves her. But if you're all right with that, then—" Vincent swallowed as Yuffie looked up curiously. "I mean," he tried again a moment later, "I don't _love _you, but—" He cut himself off once more, frustrated.

Yuffie gave an exaggerated sigh. "You really know how to make a girl feel wanted," she said teasingly, punching him sort-of-lightly in the arm, and he muttered an embarrassed apology. "Really, it's all right," she added more seriously. "About Lucrecia. Since, y'know, I never thought you'd look at me twice anyway."

Vincent frowned. "Why waste so much energy on me, then?" he asked finally.

"Honestly?" asked Yuffie, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I don't think of it as a waste." She paused and pursed her lips, her words becoming halting. "Like, I'm happy just to look at you and think you're perfect from a distance, if… that's what you want."

He couldn't help but stare at her, surprised. That was exactly how he had once felt about Lucrecia—but that very thought reminded him a moment later that his whole life had been filled with empty space, and that watching from that colossal distance was bittersweet. Now, he found a deep and alarming thirst for closeness, familiarity and proximity alike.

And some of that hunger made its way into his eyes.

"No complaints from me if that's not the case, though," added Yuffie hesitantly, eyes wide and shining with possibilities as she understood the emotion in Vincent's gaze.

There was an unusual shyness and submissiveness in her countenance lately, at least when she was around him, one he'd never fully appreciated before now. Yet, despite that, Yuffie was still the one to take charge as she stepped forward, leaned in, and—even as he moistened his lips and reached up a tentative hand—bestowed a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.

Vincent blinked, his hand falling self-consciously to his side again. "What was _that_?" he asked confusedly, frowning.

"Your nose is cold," said Yuffie at the same time, and laughed aloud, albeit somewhat nervously; Vincent gestured for her to go ahead. "Sorry," she added anxiously, tapping a restless hand on the bar and staring out the window where the rain gleamed in the streetlights. "I just chickened out! I mean, it's our first date, and some people don't like kissing on the first date, and I didn't want to risk it, and—I totally ruined it, didn't I," she moaned, hanging her head.

Vincent sighed. Her babbling was bad enough when it _wasn't _self-deprecating, but there were no words to be said: instead, he hesitated before grasping Yuffie's wrists on an impulse (she squeaked in surprise). Before he could tell himself no, he pulled her forward, drawing her liqueur-sweet mouth up to his.

After her initial shock, she twined her arms around his neck and her lips parted softly under his own. Closing his eyes lazily, Vincent slid his hand to her back and brought her closer still. But she pulled away from him, slack-jawed—eyes pleased but unfocused as they met his, clearly searching for an explanation.

"You talk too much," he murmured, leaning his forehead briefly against hers, but then his focus slid to the door as something stirred in his peripheral vision. Vincent narrowed his eyes; Cid leaned against the open doorway, Barret behind him. Both wore enormous grins.

Seeing Yuffie's eyes close blissfully, Vincent took the opportunity to scowl at the two spies, neither of whom looked remotely abashed. Drawing his cloak around her, shielding her from their gaze, he bent down and brushed his cheek along hers (she shivered) to whisper in her ear: "Don't you dare keep your distance."

Yuffie nodded mutely, eyes full of wonder and delight as her trademark smile spread across her pretty little face. "I won't," she promised, crossing her arms, and bit her lip. He thought she'd voice some worry, some reason why it wouldn't work out between them (and he'd thought of them all many, many times)—but instead, the next sentence out of her mouth was, "Now will you let me wear your cape?"

Vincent laughed despite himself, unbuckling his cloak and draping it around her shoulders, though not without an apprehensive glance at the doorway, which—to his relief—stood empty once more. On her, the cape fell far past the point it was meant to, trailing along the floor. "Take good care of it," he said eventually, wavering back and forth, before finally turning around and taking a few steps towards the door.

"Wait!" she called, stumbling after him. "Where are you going?"

"Home," responded Vincent, surprised. (If you could call the rebuilt Shinra Manor home.) Quitting while he was ahead seemed like as good an option as any at this point, given that he still had quite a lot to think about. It would be in everyone's best interests if he was left alone with his increasingly more restless thoughts.

"Can I come with you?" asked Yuffie, clinging to his arm with irrepressible enthusiasm, and he stared down at her, surprised. "It's _your _night! You shouldn't spend it all by yourself." Her eyes widened along with Vincent's, and both of them blushed at the unintentional implication. "Oh, no! I don't mean—I, um," she mumbled, staring at her feet. "You can just… shoot me now."

Vincent cleared his throat, heart still racing uncomfortably at the thought of what he would have done if she'd actually meant anything by that. "I think we'd better leave it at this for tonight," he said cautiously.

"Yeah, no, you're right," agreed Yuffie, looking relieved at his graciously glossing over of her clumsy comment, though continued to scramble after him like a lost kitten as he approached the door. "But I'm not giving your cape back unless you come see me soon!" she added resolutely. "And I don't care if Wutai _is_ all the way across the world from Nibelheim; it's not like you have a job or anythi—"

She covered her mouth, looking stricken, but Vincent only rested a heavy hand on her head and briefly shook her back and forth half-exasperatedly. "If you see Cid anywhere," he said, picking up his plain black umbrella, "tell him his work is done." _Shera will be waiting._

"Will do!" exclaimed Yuffie, saluting with a grin, and Vincent gave her a last smile as he stepped half-reluctantly out the door. Cid's work may have been done, but his own was just beginning. And between Yuffie's boisterous personality, the memory of Lucrecia, and Vincent's own newly reawakened desires—well, he certainly had his work cut out for him.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for any OOCness; I'm not much of a Yuffie or Vincent expert, but I ship the hell out of them and figured I'd try my hand at writing them anyway. Thanks for reading! :)<em>


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